Midnight Rambler
by myhandisempty
Summary: Honestly, if you're going to spend a majority of your time killing people, you may as well do it with a smile on your face and a song in your heart. Angels as serial killers AU.


He's in the kitchen, grabbing a quick snack, when his older brother finds him.

"Lucifer, I expect the horrible mess you left in your workshop to be gone by the time I get home." Cue the eye roll.

See, the problem, the whole problem with Michael is, he doesn't embrace what he is. Hell, Lucifer's not even sure he enjoys it, most of the time. He's cold and clinical, prefers methodical slicing to Lucifer's more…liberal approach, and, while he's creepy as fuck, Michael doesn't seem to take pleasure in what he does; he treats it as a necessity.

Honestly, if you're going to spend a majority of your time killing people, you may as well do it with a smile on your face and a song in your heart.

"Hot date tonight?" Lucifer smirks over at him, because he wishes Michael was going out to find a nice young man or woman to bring home and play with (maybe let Lucifer play with him if he's feeling in a particularly brotherly way this evening), but there's about a zero percent chance of that, and, oh, approximately a million percent chance of his older brother heading out with his live-in, freeloader boyfriend. It is beyond infuriating.

Gabriel, see, Gabriel is a fucking anomaly. If there's anyone who can understand the mind of a killer, it's Lucifer, but honestly, he can't wrap his head around the other man. He realizes that everyone has their own preferences, but slowly weeding out the people he should be considering family? Actually taking the time to search out so-called "deserving" victims?

Nobody deserves to die, necessarily. Doesn't mean they shouldn't.

Even more disturbing, to be sure, is the reason he's living with them. He may be a narcissistic sociopath, but Lucifer cannot understand how his brother not only decided to bring home, but also fell in love with the man who was going to kill him. How do you ever even feel _comfortable_ around the person who had you strapped to a table, saw at the ready? Michael's gone crazy (sure, he's always been half-crazy, but which of them haven't?). Lucifer, on the other hand, knows to watch his back. Sure, Gabriel seems comfortable enough among them, shoved into their strange little family, but he's a fake, like the rest of them. Lucifer can't shake the feeling that if he even wakes up in the morning, it will be to the shove of a knife through his gut.

One of these days, he might get to Gabriel first, just to be on the safe side.

Before Michael can even answer, speak of the devil, Gabriel comes bounding into the kitchen. "You know it," he grins, and wraps an arm easily around Michael's waist. Lucifer frowns, just on the principle of the matter. "Oh, c'mon," Gabriel whines at him. "What could be better than seeing your big brother happy with me?"

Lucifer, never usually one for _self_-harm, wants to gouge his eyes out with the spoon he's holding. "Being dead, or anything else."

Gabriel looks at him with these big, sad eyes, and he thinks, maybe, something kind will come out of his mouth for once. Then, "Would you like me to arrange that?" The shorter man turns to Michael, expression a strange, mocking mixture of concern and delight. "I could arrange that," he offers.

And screw it, Michael's boyfriend or not, Lucifer swears on his father's grave that Gabriel will be the next person he has chained up in the workshop.

"Hush, Gabriel," Michael scolds him. He turns to his younger brother for a second, eyes shining with something like sympathy, before turning back to his boyfriend. "If you want to get on his good side, I suggest chair-bondage with handcuffs and, possibly, hot iron pokers."

While Lucifer is indignantly squawking, Gabriel turns to Michael and stage whispers, "But I thought that was _our_ idea of fun," and, yeah, now Lucifer's _mortified_.

Michael, the bastard, is just laughing, turning to wrap his arms around Gabriel's waist and rest his head on his shoulder, when Castiel chooses that exact moment to grace them with his presence.

See, Castiel has something of a problem, too. His younger brother is too in touch with emotion, feels remorse too easily, so whenever he kills, he feels the need to…beautify the scene, afterwards, if you will. Castiel _is _that douchebag killer, the one who leaves a rose, or a feather, or some sort of calling card behind, which is fucking unacceptable, but Lucifer still loves his little brother dearly.

"Hey, Castiel," he greets him, pointedly ignoring the giggling, love-sick idiots in the room. "If you're not up to anything tonight, how about a little road trip?"

"Workshop!" Michael blurts out, obviously still agitated about the splatters of blood and gore, but Lucifer is ignoring him now, and anyway, he is a grown ass man and he will clean up the room when he damn well pleases.

Castiel is looking at him with a more pronounced confusion than normal, because, as a rule, they don't really do anything together, any of the brothers; not outside of the house. And a road trip only means one thing to any of them: fresh pickings when the heat of speculation has been mounting around them here. But, for all that Castiel is different from him, in the moment he enjoys himself as much as Lucifer does, and it's not like Michael has been in the mood to share a good kill lately, anyway, not with the stick named Gabriel up his ass.

Castiel slowly lets a small smile spread across his face, and nods his agreement. "That would be doable. I'll just get my coat."

"Hey, hey, no hurry," Lucifer stops him. "The night is still young. And anyway," he waves his spoon in Castiel's direction. "I would really like to finish my ice cream."

"Speaking of road trips," Michael speaks up again, "there is a new neighbor in the area. Just moved in down the street with his brother. Gabriel did some digging, and he was apparently in St. Louis before this, where he—"

"Is wanted for a string of brutal murders," Gabriel blurts out, way too excitedly, and they are fucking finishing each other's sentences now…

Castiel's expression shifts. "What's his name?" his voice rumbles, head tilted, frown set on his face. Lucifer's never been frightened by anyone in this room, but Castiel is starting to scare him a bit. The thing about emotions is that they're all good and fine, until they make you unstable. Lucifer thinks Castiel is more unstable than most.

Michael turns to him and answers. "Dean Winchester is what he's going by, if that's accurate. Gabriel and I were thinking of sha—"

"No."

Castiel isn't quite so scary looking anymore, but he is determined, and that alone gives Michael pause. "No?"

"I already have plans for him," Castiel answers, and the way it's said leaves no room for discussion. Lucifer turns to Michael, questioning with his eyebrows why, exactly, they are taking orders from their little brother.

But Gabriel turns away from Michael, places his hand on Castiel's shoulder, and _smiles_ at him. It kind of shocks Lucifer; he doesn't like surprises. He doesn't think he's ever seen Gabriel smile at anyone who's not Michael. "That's fine, Cas. Whatever you want," Gabriel tells him, soothingly. Castiel smiles back, and what is going _on_? When did they hit it off?

But Castiel is beaming from the kind words, and Michael is looking at Gabriel like he's the goddamn messiah or something, so Lucifer just shrugs and decides to play nice, for now. He pulls out his serrated knife, still strapped to his side from earlier activities, and pointedly starts polishing it with the napkin lying on the counter.

"Sure, Castiel," he murmurs, watching the blade sparkle. "Besides, maybe the aforementioned brother would like to play."


End file.
